Future Perfect (11 page)

“What do you want me to do then? Start dueling with the fresh fruit?”

Juliana motioned to the cutlery in the wood block. “Choose your weapon,” she said.

Webster selected a viciously sharp-looking knife and happily went to work cutting a huge pile of fresh fruit into bite-sized pieces.

As they worked, Webster kept up his usual steady stream of conversation, telling Juliana about the day he
decided to take his father’s prize mare for a ride—only days before the very pregnant horse was due to foal. “I didn’t know why the horse was so damn fat,” he said. “I thought she needed the exercise. I was only six years old. I mean, I knew about sex—we ran a stud service, for crying out loud. But people would bring their mares to our farm, our stallions would service them, and then they’d leave. This was the first time I’d been around anything even remotely pregnant. Man, you should’ve seen my father’s face when he saw me riding that mare bareback around the corral.…” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Did you get punished?” Juliana asked.

Webster was silent for a moment. The sound of his knife hitting the cutting board with solid
thwacks
was the only noise in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

But he didn’t say anything else. Juliana looked over at him. He was pretending to be engrossed in cutting a pear.

“What happened?” she asked.

“My father gave me the cold, silent treatment for an entire week. Then … he shipped me off to boarding school.” Webster was trying to be casual, blasé even, but Juliana could see an echo of the little boy he’d once been in his eyes. And that little boy was still indignant, outraged, and deeply, deeply hurt.

Juliana thought about Liz and Sam’s son, Chris, who had just turned nine. She couldn’t imagine sending a child even
that
young away from home. And
six!
A six-year-old was hardly more than a baby.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Yeah, well, you know, life goes on,” he said, scraping
the fruit on his cutting board into the big plastic container.

“I do know,” she said quietly, and when he looked up at her, he knew she understood.

Webster stood at the counter, mixing the batter for pancakes.

“What’s next?” he asked.

“Eggs. Three,” she said, carrying the heavy plates and silverware into the living room. The door swung softly shut behind her.

“Three eggs,” Webster repeated, opening the refrigerator. A huge carton of fresh eggs was on the bottom shelf. He pulled three eggs from the box and began juggling them clumsily as he turned to cross the kitchen floor.

Except the kitchen floor was occupied by a small, elderly lady in a long, black coat and matching hat.

Webster grabbed at two of the eggs and fumbled the third, catching it just before it hit the ground.

“Nice save,” the lady said, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Her rather regal gaze swept up and down Webster, and he became acutely aware of the hole in the knee of his sweat pants. He put the eggs on the counter and ran his hands through his hair in a useless attempt to make it less dishevelled.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Who the heck are you?” she asked him.

“Webster Donovan.”

She nodded, her piercing gray eyes settling on his face.

“I just finished reading your book,” she said. “You’re a fine writer—good style, smooth delivery, a sincere, personal voice. I enjoyed it immensely.”

“Well, thanks,” Webster said. “I’m glad, but—”

“How’s the second novel coming?” she asked. She put her purse on the kitchen table and began taking off her coat, still watching him closely.

She saw the flash of passion spark in the young man’s eyes, as his handsome face broke into a slow grin. “I wrote the outline last night,” he said. “Finally.”

“Aha,” she said, pulling her hatpins out, and taking the tiny black hat off her thick gray curls. “Broke out of your writer’s block, did you? Good for you.”

Webster stared at her. Underneath her coat, she wore dark blue sweat pants and a white blouse under a knitted red vest. She had a pair of running shoes on her tiny feet, with pom-poms at the ends of her laces. Her face was beautiful, the lines and wrinkles adding dignity and wisdom to her countenance. She could have been anywhere from sixty to one hundred years old. But she moved with the vitality and youthfulness of a young girl.

“Excuse me for not knowing, but … who the heck are
you
?” Webster asked, echoing her words to him.

She laughed—a quick burst of sound. “I’m Alicia Dupree,” she said. “Is my niece around here somewhere?”

“Juliana’s getting the dining room ready,” he said, breaking the eggs into the mixing bowl.

Alicia gave Webster another long, appraising look, thinking,
Juliana
,
huh?
In the five years they’d run this guest house, Jule hadn’t allowed anyone to become familiar enough with her to call her by her first name. And since when did a guest work in the kitchen?

The door to the dining room swung open, and Juliana came into the room. Alicia watched Webster smile at her niece and saw his eyes light with the same passion she’d
seen when he talked about his novel.
He’s in love with her
, she thought. She
knew
just from talking to him on the phone that the two young folks would hit it off. But, oh dear, maybe coming back early was a mistake.

Alicia turned to her niece, hoping to see the same light in her eyes as Juliana looked at the young man, but Jule had already spotted her, and was coming toward her for a welcome-home hug.

“You’re back early,” Juliana said, her face showing nothing but pleasure at seeing her great-aunt.

“How’s business?” Alicia asked.

“As usual for this time of year.” Juliana smiled. “Heavy on the weekends, light during the week.”

“Any word from our mysterious reviewer?”

Juliana shook, her head. “I don’t know, Al. We had an awful lot of return guests—Oh, the Edgewoods were here. They said to say hello. There were one or two firsttimers, but nobody really looked like a reviewer.”

“Reviewer?” Webster asked, frowning slightly.

Alicia poured herself a cup of coffee, stirring in some milk. “Once every two years, the
Boston Globe
does a big spread on bed and breakfasts in western Massachusetts. Usually they send a letter telling who’s coming and when they’ll arrive. We haven’t heard anything from them this year, so maybe they’re doing it differently. I always did think it was foolish of them to tip their hand that way.
Of course
a guest house is going to get out its best silver and polish everything up real pretty if they know a reviewer is coming. It’s the sneak attack that gets an effective review.”

Juliana smiled at her aunt. “I like being warned, I like knowing when it’s going to happen.”

Alicia laughed. “You like being sure that you’ll make
your special raisin bread for the morning the reviewer’s here. You’re just as bad as the rest of ’em.”

“It’s true,” Juliana said, her smile suddenly cheeky. “A review can make or break a bed and breakfast. I’d do just about
anything
for a good one.”

Alicia looked up to find Webster’s eyes on Juliana, a soft look on his face. He probably hadn’t heard a single word they’d said, she realized, laughing to herself.

She looked at her niece, but Jule’s face was carefully devoid of emotion as she met Webster’s eyes. The young woman turned and serenely finished mixing the pancake batter.

“I’ll cook dinner tonight,” Alicia said suddenly.

“Alicia, you don’t have to—”

“No, I’ve made up my mind. All you have to do is show up at seven o’clock with an appetite,” the older woman said firmly. “You can take the afternoon off, go ride that horse of yours.”
And take this young man with you
, she added silently.

“May I come along?” Webster asked Juliana softly.

Attaboy!
Alicia silently cheered him on.

“I thought you wanted to use my exercise bike,” she said.

“I’d rather go riding,” he said. “With you.”

Alicia smiled to herself. She liked this fellow. He didn’t pull his punches. She felt Juliana glance at her, and she busied herself folding the cloth napkins that were out on the kitchen table.

“All right,” Juliana said. “We’ll leave at three-thirty. But that means you’ve got to go upstairs and go to sleep—right now.”

“Deal,” he said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alicia saw him touch
Juliana’s face lightly with his fingers before he left the room. “See you at three-thirty,” he said. “Nice meeting you, Alicia.”

“Same here,” she called back.

Alicia waited until the blush had left her niece’s cheeks.

“Nice young man,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” Juliana agreed, heating the pancake griddle.

“Seems to like you an awful lot.”

Juliana didn’t respond.

“He’s nothing at all like Dennis,” Alicia said, trying to get any kind of reaction from the younger woman.

“Thank goodness for
that
,” Juliana muttered.

“I taped Mr. Donovan’s book for you while I was on vacation,” Alicia said.

“You
did
?” Juliana looked up, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Liz lent me her copy. I’ve been dying to read it—”

“It just came out in paperback,” Alicia said. “I saw it in the airport as I was waiting for my plane. Picked it up, couldn’t put it down.”

“Is it really that good?”

“You’ll see.”

“Thanks, Alicia,” Juliana said quietly.

“Uh-huh.”

The air was crisp, the cold more biting than it should be for a late-October afternoon. Clouds hung heavily in the sky, dark gray and threatening.

Captain snorted, his warm breath white in the chill air. Juliana looked at Webster, who was riding Sam Beckwith’s horse, Firebrand, as if he had been born in the saddle. He practically had, she reminded herself.

He smiled at her, that familiar, lazy grin that could start a fire deep inside her.

She wanted him to kiss her the way he had last night. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted to run her fingers through his gleaming hair … Which right now was mostly hidden under a beat-up old cowboy hat he’d pulled out of the trunk of his car when they’d arrived at the stables.

With that hat, his jeans and boots, and his soft, brown calfskin jacket, he looked like a cowboy. He looked like a man able to take on any physical hardship or difficulty that came his way, a rugged outdoorsman. He didn’t look like the kind of man who could write words sensitive and poignant enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“I read your book today,” she said. She’d gone up to her room right after breakfast and listened to the tapes Alicia had made for her. She hadn’t stopped listening even for lunch.

His expression changed, and uncertainty crept into his eyes. “Oh,” he said. He squinted out over the length of the pasture, reining in Firebrand.

Juliana halted Captain next to him. “It was … not bad.”

He glanced at her and saw the teasing smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“I loved it,” she admitted. “You know, the way you write is so natural. It’s so much like the way you talk, I’d really love it if …” Her voice trailed off.

“What?” he asked.

She looked away from him, embarrassed.

“What?” he asked again. The warm curiosity in his eyes made her realize he wouldn’t simply let it go.

“Someday, could you … read it to me?” she asked,
adding softly, “I mean, not while you’re so busy, trying to write this other book, but—”

He reached over, picked up her hand, and kissed her wrist on the spot between her glove and her jacket sleeve. Juliana felt a shiver go up her spine. Captain sidled, though, and Webster let go of her hand.

“I’d love to,” he said, his voice husky as he suddenly imagined himself lying in a warm bed with Juliana. His arm would be around her, and her head would rest against his chest. Her beautiful eyes would be closed, and he would feel her breath warm against his skin. And he would read out loud to her from his own book.…

He grinned to himself. The way she had asked, she’d implied it would be an imposition, as if he wouldn’t be thrilled to read his own words to the woman that he—

He broke off his thought, suddenly terribly confused.

Juliana was stroking Captain’s neck, and when she felt his eyes on her, she looked up and smiled.

The woman that he loved. Webster was suddenly unable to breathe. Except he didn’t believe in love. It didn’t exist.

You’re just mixed up
, he tried to tell himself.
You’ve mistaken simple desire for something else
.

And he did desire her. That was clear. God almighty, just look at her sitting astride that horse, he thought.

Captain was eager to run, and he broke away. Juliana skillfully brought the animal back under control, and as Webster watched, the muscles in her thighs tightened underneath her jeans as she urged the horse back toward him. He wanted her long, strong legs around him like that. Damn, just thinking about it made him hard.

Yeah, he didn’t really love her. It was just his desire for her making him a little crazy. Wasn’t it?

“Race you,” Juliana said.

“Where?”

“Down and back?” Juliana motioned to the end of the field with her head.

“What do I get if I win?” he asked.

Her eyes sparkled. “What do you want?”

A hell of a question. “A kiss.”

She smiled, “Winner gets a kiss.” The smile grew broader. “Of course, that means the loser gets one, too.”

Juliana called out the count, and the horses took off, bolting at breakneck speed across the field. Webster’s hat flew off his head as the cold wind rushed past him. He let out the reins, kicking Firebrand’s sides, but still, Captain kept up.

The end of the field was approaching, and Webster pulled his horse in, slowing to turn Firebrand around, not wanting to risk injury to the horse by cutting the turn too tightly. Juliana and Captain surged past him, the lighter horse and rider needing less space to make the turn. By the time Webster finished turning, Juliana was nearly a quarter of the way back across the field.